What Are You Sniffing, Jet?
by Abraxas Qlippoth
Summary: Jet's obsession with uncovering Zuko's and Iroh's fire bending is simply a cover to pursue a very different kind of obsession- it seems the young guerrilla's fallen in love with one of the exiles of the Fire Nation.


Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

**"What Are You Sniffing, Jet?"** by **Abraxas** 2009-01-08

I watch - through shadows like a thief of the darkness. I wait - I do that a lot, I think, all of the time. There - at last! The boy and the uncle exit and they don't notice my presence. Good. Good. Very good. Refuse sinks into background, blending - no - becoming the landscape of Ba Sing Se and so it works for those two as it works for me.

I peek between dumpsters and catch them vanishing into the labyrinth of the city.

I don't know why I get so cautious stalking the two exiles. I guess I really, really don't want to be caught - and if you know what I was going to do you'd understand my paranoia. Maybe I'm just not a confrontational kind of guy - well - inside of Ba Sing Se. Well, anyway, it's not like they know I investigate.

A man I know to be Dai Lee passes by and notices my loitering.

Gods - this city is worse than any kind of hell the Fire Nation could have imagined. Who knew the Earth Kingdom would be like that with its own people? I am so...I donno...disillusioned.

I wonder - would it be better if the Fire Nation toppled this abomination? Perhaps, then, out of the ashes a greater kingdom, a freer kingdom, arises.

But I digress.

This that I do - investigate - it's a personal kind of thing. I know my friends object to it - and they only think I'm spying in on them. They believe my mission to uncover the truth is meaningless. It's nothing. It's just my imagination. Whatever. They tell me I shouldn't waste my time and my opportunity. Of course I ignore the protest.

We came to Ba Sing Se to seek a new way of life. They are right about what those intentions used to be. I donno. Maybe those stories about paradise on Earth still resonate with them. I see through the propaganda, though, and I question - what kind of life could it be? To me, with agents everywhere, I'd rather serve fruit to Ozai and I'd feel a lot better about it.

Anyway, I know what I saw. That tea was cold and the old man complained about it aloud. Then - then without him getting up and buying a new sample - it was smoking. Unless he's lighter on his feet than I imagine only one single explanation was possible - he's a fire-bender!

Yes, my friends don't believe me and, worse, shockingly, they wonder what would be the problem if he were a fire-bender.

When the path is clear I sneak out of the alley. The building is to my left and I gaze at its entrance. Meanwhile I walk with traffic mechanically as if I were within my own home territory and just knew everything happening. A guerilla needs to do more than blend into a setting, he must become one, wholly, completely one, with that environment. Almost as if he were an extension of it.

From the light to the dark, the transition into the lobby of the building was as uneventful as anything could be. The one good thing about Ba Sing Se - rather, that part of the city - was that we're just exile riff raff. No security. No guards. And no body was watching despite all of the people smoking and drinking and reading fragments of newspapers.

There was yet another advantage particular to that circle of the city with its sea of refugees

Those newspapers, those unofficial uncensored rags, were abuzz with reports about the Fire Nation's drill and a plot to penetrate the walls of Ba Sing Se. There were rumors afloat about the Avatar saving the city too. The war and everything about it was something that could not be discussed openly...yet, many times that week, I averted that disaster of getting caught by telling stories of the Avatar. Any bit of information about the world outside the city was as valuable as gold and always found its way onto front page headlines.

I grabbed a rag and headed into the stairwell.

Truth is my friends could be right. Even if those two were fire-benders that itself didn't matter. And I granted their zest for tolerance that victory but I continued my surveillance. Because, now, it's a question about their intent. Were they refugees exiled out of the Fire Nation? Were they part of a plot to destroy Ba Sing Se?

So I convinced myself and my friends that this obsession served a purpose.

I reach the level of their floor then climb half way toward the level above it. There, in the slant of light breaking through a window, I sit and read the newspaper. It's the perfect cover if they return. I melt into the architecture.

There is - I hate to confess it, yes, I hate to confess it - there is another aspect of this business that only slowly emerged into view. I repressed my tendency as I probed their identity. Until I crossed a boundary beyond which I could not deny my obsession any longer. The surveillance is a cover. Always was. Always will be.

The problem with the human mind is its uncanny and insatiable ability to fool itself. Just like these people are fooled. A city fooled. A kingdom fooled.

I was fooling myself, too, and what I was hiding was of a very different and personal nature.

It's unspeakable. Gods! It's... It's... I burst into icy cold sweat as it comes into focus. How could it be? That I think these thoughts? That I act these urges? Why am I this way?

But if this is how I am then that's that.

You see, whether they're fire-benders or not, whether they're a part of a plot or not, this surveillance serves to quench a whole other kind of need.

Gods - why am I burdened with these fantasies?

Minutes.

Minutes.

When no body returns I reach the door. The lock comes undone easily with a pick. Years of sabotaging Fire Nation camps and everything. I need to be quick anyway.

The first time I entered their apartment I spent the hour rummaging through drawers. Closets. Chests. Anything and everything where items could be hidden. I searched for secret, hidden compartments. All that while my heart raced with excitement - I faced doom each and every moment - though my stalking revealed their habit well enough that I knew they would be away until sunset anything could have happened to upset their schedule and that would have been the end of it.

My search always found nothing remotely incriminating. Those two came with the clothes on their backs. If there were any physical connection to the Fire Nation it didn't exist within that apartment. About the only interesting stuff I found was a mask and a pair of swords - but that came from the boy's room and I wasn't interested with the boy.

It was the old man!

It was always, always the old man - can't you see it?

It was the old man who aroused my suspicion then awoke a need I did not fathom existed.

Looking at his clothes, hanging within his closet, I picture that old man again and again. Walking with me, talking with me, gods, why? Why do I do it? Why am I consumed by this?

I didn't find any other boys attractive and, and, I didn't imagine an old man like that erotic. Yet, day after day, I break into this apartment just to nurse this sweet spot.

"Uncle, be my Uncle, please, be my Uncle," I weep, wishing to meet something, someone instead of clothes.

Maybe it's the way we connect. I feel so at easy when he comes with my drink and offers a few words. He sits awhile and I talk about my adventures. The good and the bad parts. Even my feelings toward the Fire Nation. And the Avatar. It's like I can bare my soul and he won't judge.

I suppose, yeah, I guess I want him to be Fire Nation so I would be free to hate again. But I know that would be vain. And I accept if he were a monster his place within my heart could not be denied.

He's just too much of what I picture a noble, kind warrior to be.

I grab his clothes and inhale their peculiar scent. Despite being alone and knowing it I look around to be sure I'm not watched through a window. I expose my cock, now fully erect, stimulated by the thought of that old man, and I rub it across his garments. Not enough to leave traces of my juices. Just enough that I know I will be there with him!

I leave with the flints and with the urge to gaze at that sweet old man's face. I do think he was a warrior once upon a time. Maybe I'll get a little out of his past this time. I'll work my charm. Yes, indeed, I'll stop at the tearoom again. Although the boy won't like it but I don't much give a damn about the boy.

**END**


End file.
